


Magnifier

by ceywoozle



Series: One Word Bottomjohn Prompts [49]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, POV Inanimate Object
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 05:32:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3435326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceywoozle/pseuds/ceywoozle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the One Word Bottomjohn Prompt Series and The Baker Street Monologues Series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magnifier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AtlinMerrick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlinMerrick/gifts).



This is because of what happened with the Scarf, isn't it? Christ. Typical. Such a bloody dramatist. Can't really be surprised as its entire purpose in life seems to be theatrically flapping about. And that's only on the interesting days. Most of the time it just... _hangs there_. Sleek and fashionable and smug. It's not like Sherlock's ever actually used it to keep warm. Oh no, that would just be too mundane. God, I hate the Scarf.

I mean, honestly. If it wants to talk about having _seen_ things? My entire purpose is to see things. And I'm not talking about the nice stuff. I'm talking about corpses and carrion insects. I can't even tell you how grateful I am that Sherlock and John have finally bloody gotten it together because it means the blood and decaying flesh is now supplemented with things like actual living pores of actual living things. Do you know how many freckles John has on the end of his nose? I'll bet you bloody don't. I'll bet you didn't even know he _had_ freckles. Well, I could tell you. I could tell you the exact shade of blue of John Watson's eyes, the exact number of blonde strands still left in his hair, the precise length of his stubble seven hours after shaving.

I could tell you other things too. The consistency and colour of his ejaculate two minutes after his coming. The perfect smoothness of the glans and the pored and imperfect surface of his testicles. I could describe to you just how it looks when the rim of his anus is stretched and strained around the solid invasion of whichever toy Sherlock happened to choose for him that day, the way the skin drags and folds as the rubber is pushed in and out with deliberate scientific intent.

I could tell you those things, but I won't, because unlike _some others_ around here, I'm not completely lost to shame and self-importance.

Listen, I don't know what you want here. Go talk to the bloody Coat or something.

 

 


End file.
